


Welcome to the Dream Bubbles, Bulgeslut

by TyphloticHaruspex



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Tentabulges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyphloticHaruspex/pseuds/TyphloticHaruspex
Summary: Bro Strider is dead and roaming the dream bubbles when suddenly a wild Mituna appears. Metaphorical dick-measuring turns into actual dicking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this way before it was revealed that Broseph Strider was actually, canonically an asshole. Consider it, if it makes you feel any better, to be an alternate universe where he wasn't a punch in the nads. And the feels also. The feel-nads, if you will. Please don't. (FeelNad, Inc.--patent pending)  
> Why Mituna and Bro? Not enough Bro with people he isn't related to and not enough Mituna. Period.
> 
> It's also my first time actually finishing and publishing a smut piece. Any feedback would be great.

Bro wasn’t sure he was used to these “dream bubbles” yet.  
Wasn’t sure he was used to being dead, either, but that fact tended to take a backseat in the convertible of his mind—to keep it from driving straight into Downersville and Identity-Crisis-Town. 

Point is it was hard to count yourself among the dearly departed with a place so kicking and alive. Well, dead, but the idea still stands. Full of brightly colored, weird-ass trees and grey-skinned alien dudes/dudettes. 

He usually took to wandering. Sometimes he even crossed paths with normal looking kids and, no kidding, normal looking suburban streets that didn’t hide big fuckin crab monsters in bizarre blocks of grey pretending to be houses.  
He saw a lot of Daves. Like, a shitton at least. He tried not to think on that too much, either. Little bro was probably out in the real world, kicking ass and taking names. And that was cool, Bro was fine with chillin’ in the sidelines; warming up the bench. He got the feeling that everything would be alright, despite the fucking psychedelic shit happening around him 25/8 like a bad trip after a Sunday morning.

Bro paused in his thoughts to take a peep at where his wicked kicks had marched him to this time. Nothing too crazy; no brain-trees, at least. A little green grass and a bit of river, it looked like, with a puke-colored bridge. Fantastic. 

He started to cross the bridge, suddenly realizing that his Bro senses were tingling. That sound…

Unmistakable. That was the sound of a righteous pair of small wheels, attatched to what was probably a rockin’-ass board.  
Someone was fucking skateboarding in this Salvador Dali nightmare. 

Said board’s existence was undeniably verified as it slammed into Bro’s shoulder, sending him forward to the dirt. He felt someone wiry collide with him about halfway down, all limbs and viciously sputtering like a pissed-off cat stuck inside an old car engine.  
Bro promptly ate shit on the grass. And from the sound of it, his new acquaintance had landed in a similar fashion just beside his head. 

“FUCK FUCkin you SHont of a WHOre!!” the pile of arms and legs shrieked, amidst a horrific lisp that threatened to drench Bro in a shower of spit and various yowling noises.

“Well, hey, nice to meet you too.” Strider grunted, removing a handful of grass from his mouth and double-checking his glasses to make sure the incident hadn’t broken them any. He glanced upwards to get a better look at his assailant, feeling his body begin to throb where either the skateboard had hit it or the ground had met it. 

Another alien. Gray and practically skin and bones, with a super tight suit of the most eye-searing yellow Bro had ever had the displeasure of seeing. He wore a helmet of the same color with a red and blue visor that hid his eyes. What was it with these space people and terrible fashion sense anyways?

“Wasthn’t talkin to you,” the troll mumbled through saliva, grimacing and revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth that looked like they’d been caught in the middle of a dance-off. “Fuckin’ SSTHKATEBOARD boarding fuck.” He trailed off, maneuvering his arms and legs one at a time to peel himself off the ground. His body moved jankily as he got up and rubbed at his neck, looking around for his ride. 

Bro stood up slowly, stretching his back and popping his neck. “Ran into me pretty hard there,” he began coolly. “Reckon I ought to apologize for being in the way, huh?”

The alien’s bony shoulder shook as he started making a strange hissing, choking noise. It took a moment for Bro to realize it was supposed to be a laugh. 

“Ramnmm…you harder later too,” he wheezed through his teeth, reaching for his board and tucking it under one arm, “Betch.” He cackled suddenly, his forked tongue making an appearance as his whole body trembled. 

“Shit, son, forget I said anything.” 

Of course. Even aliens had to have his type. Loud, impulsive, didn’t shut up. Basically so long as there was a fuck to be given, this kid would do whatever it took to annoy it out of him. Catch it like a godamned poacher on the African savannahs, lock it up and use it for medicine.  
Probably drank Mountain Dew.

“Sthorry.” The troll’s face fell. Hell, his entire, spindly frame positively drooped. “I’m sorry.”

Bro frowned thoughtfully. An apology? Yeah, this associate had some serious potential to be a pain but he sounded genuine enough. Why not give him another chance? Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t met worse.

“Bro.” he said, finishing his inner monologue. “Bro Strider.”

He got stared at for a good while after he spoke--just long enough for him to start wondering if the twigs rolling around his new friend’s brain were broken or something. 

“That’sth a thtupid assth name,” he finally lisped, straightening a bit and shifting his board to the other arm, “What, where even did your luthusths—luthuth—fuck—guardnian do to—“ he paused with a fierce grimace before beginning again, “make that thort of noithe.”

“It’thsth dumb.” He clarified. Bro shrugged. 

“Ain’t any dumber than what you’ve got to offer, I bet.”

“My name ithz fucking Mituna Captor, thitweathel, stho memorizthe it thso you can thcream it later,” Mituna declared with a grin so sideways it nearly fell off his face. 

“Keep coming onto me like that and a guy just might get the wrong idea,” Bro half-warned. He hated to admit it, but he kind’ve wanted to entertain the wrong idea. Who knew what this alien twig was capable of. Probably could bend like nobody’s business, come to think it.

Mituna snorted. “Tho what. Go ahead and get the wrong idea.” He planted his hands on his hips and swayed a little, shuddering to a halt when his board threatened to escape his grip. “I can—I can take any thin you’ve got. Nookwhiff,” he added.

“Are you honestly flirting with me now?” Bro couldn’t help but grin a little in return. “I cannot tell to preserve my life.”

Mituna reared up like he’d just been issued a challenge and stomped forward. He stumbled faintly and ended up godamn nearly nose-to-nose with the human, if he wasn’t still a good head shorter. 

“You talk tho much I think—“ he sneered loudly, “I think you can—could—how about you fuckin’ thuck my bulge.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Bro pretended to clean out one ear. “No, no, see, I don’t think I am understandin’ you right.” He stepped closer, leaning over the troll a bit. “I don’t think you could take me, bumblebee. Why don’t cha buzz on home.”

There was silence for a moment. Both parties had their eyewear, so neither could actually, physically stare down the other, but neither budged either; aside from Captor and the twitches that occasionally shivered down his spine. They left tremors in their wake that travelled through his arms and legs and gave the impression that he wasn’t fully stable. 

A huge, shit-eating leer appeared on the troll’s face. “You’re on, thludge thslurper. I’ll make you wisthsth you’d never hatched.” He grabbed a handful of Bro’s shirt and tugged him sharply downward, mashing his horrifying mouth of knives to Strider’s comparatively dull counterpart. There was a brief moment where Bro wondered if the kid even knew what he was doing, until another shockwave rippled through his skinny body and all at once, it became a real kiss. 

He was dimly cognizant of the hand in his shirt dislodging violently in order to clutch at the base of his neck, curling into his hair and shuddering as it went. A shiver went up his own spine as Mituna slipped that freak of a tongue around his, coiling about his mouth and tasting vaguely of bad soda. 

Momentarily, they pulled apart, panting into each other’s lips. Mituna was already flushing into a yellow tinge that Bro found oddly satisfying. He snaked his hands onto the troll’s thin hips, rubbing firmly with his fingertips. A spot near Captor’s ribcage made him gasp, leaving an opportunity for Bro to reclaim his lips, this time with more force. He crushed the alien’s mouth to his, lapping at his saliva and searching for a zipper on his ridiculous suit.

“Zzsth not—“ Mituna attempted to slur over the purring starting in the depths of his throat. “Mmm—back. Back.”

Obligingly, Bro reached to his back, his fingertips trailing up his spine as he went. Goddamn he could count the fucking vertebrae. When was the last time this kid ate? A nice, firm tug of the zipper and the whole thing came loose, surprisingly enough. Bro had half-expected the outfit to stick to him like leather, but there it went, peeling off and leaving more yellow-grey skin in its wake. Rough patches on the sides the same color as his tongue and entirely sans nipples on the torso.

The fabric settled around Mituna’s hips, drawing Bro’s attention downwards to a writhing movement at his crotch. His felt his mouth go dry as he counted not one, but two straining bulges, squirming smoothly one minute and jerking the next. Though the suit was doing a valiant job of not staining, the faint sounds of squelching lent to how wet they must be.

Bro was momentarily lost in the thought of both of them up his ass.

Maybe not today, he decided finally, his eyes eventually forcing their way back up to the troll’s, who’d been standing triumphantly, his hands on the small of his back and his grin returned in full force. Maybe not today—but definitely, at some point, hell or high water, those things were going directly into Broseph Strider’s anus, he promised himself.

“Like-likein’ what’cha stheein’?” came the leer. “Wanna sthuff both thesthe down your koot—schut—chute? Take it all? Sthlut?” 

“What makes you think I’m receivin’ this evenin’?” Bro returned evenly. 

“Rhy-rahyems don’t—can’t—wherewhat’sth your bulge??” 

The human realized with faint amusement that the implications had, in fact, gotten to his compatriot and had even taken him by some kind of surprise. 

Slowly, teasingly, he undid his belt buckle and tugged his own pants southwards. Gripping himself firmly, he was pleased to note lil’ Bro was already half-mast. Weigh the fuckin’ anchor and get ready to board, we’re gonna plunder some godamned alien booty, he thought with pride. 

He waited patiently for Mituna’s comment, as he stood before him pantsless and cock in hand.

“And?” he prompted, raising an eyebrow at his, comparatively, still form. It was silent for a good few beats. Mituna’s helmet obscured much of his face but his mouth, where he chewed viciously at his lips with those mistakes he wore for teeth.

“Fuck that’sth big.” Was the breathless reply. “And? Noth—it isthn’t moving? Isth it dead?” There was a tone of panic rising in that last one, as though he were suddenly afraid dick-death was real and contagious. 

“It’s one hundred percent real human donger, friendo,” Bro assured him. “Real big, real alive. Real about to fuck you into next Tuesday.”

“What’sth a Tuesthetday.” 

“Come find out.”

Mituna snorted noisily, gripping at what was left of his suit and yanking it down, his whole body swaying precariously with the movements. “More like it’sth cum fine—find out,” he mumbled, suddenly distracted with getting the fabric over his bulges. As they squirmed eagerly out, he gasped under his breath and Bro felt concerned that he’d caught them with it, hurt himself-like.

But no, he finished pulling his outfit to the ground just fine, stepping out of it with a shaky sense like he was inches from falling over. His yellowed flush deepened and he mimicked Bro’s stance, legs wide, back straight. Strider again felt the wind kick out of him as he watched, and heard, fuck him, the tentacle appendages slip around Mituna’s long fingers, pulsing against them wetly.

Stepping forward with confidence, Mituna found his way to Bro’s mouth again, though he made a quick, shuddering detour onto his chin. His tongue slid against his teeth and his lips suckled at the human’s with shameless smacking noises. Bro did his damndest to focus, keep his mind off the passing brushes of the alien slime cocks that occasionally twitched against his thigh and ignore how badly he wanted them to go up just that little bit further.

“So,” he murmured in between sloppy makeouts, his free hand sliding to grasp at the bony hip in front of him. “Face down or up?”

He grunted in surprise as Mituna bit him for a reply, sucking hard on the blood that he drew on Bro’s lip and chuckling deep in his throat, the noise mixing with that trilling, purring nonsense again. 

“Do me lick—likeike a barkbeef. Barkbeatht. Faceth down, asth up.” Mituna’s hips wiggled suggestively, if shakily, under Bro’s hand, his bulges straining and pulling a sigh from his mouth. His helmet moved as he waggled his eyebrows and Bro had to restrain a laugh. 

“Face down, then. Go on.” 

Obediently, the troll slid downwards, his legs seeming to cave underneath him as he got halfway to the ground. Hands flat on the grass, he stuck his ass in the air and spread his legs, if a little too far apart. From this angle, Bro could get a front-seat eyeful of his space vagina. (Which apparently all of them have? Truthfully Bro was a little jealous just for the amount of dicking that could be accomplished with two sets.) 

Like a human, but the same bright yellow as all his other colored bits. Shuddering and pulsing with every movement of his twin dicks and leaking a yellow-tinged fluid in excess.  
Appreciatively, he ran a hand down the crack of Mituna’s flat little caboose, his thumb seeking out the, fuck, literally dripping wet warmth between his thighs. He pushed it in, curious to test the waters. Mituna made a strange sort of sound somewhere between a moan and a hiccup, his hips pushing back onto his hand violently. 

“Feh-facthe down, fuck-uck fuck me,” he stuttered, already impatient. 

“Gettin’ to it.” Was the hummed reply, as Bro removed his thumb, sucking off the juices, and replaced it with the head of his cock.  
“Helmet off.” He added, as a last-minute thought, removing his finger from his mouth with a decadent ‘pop’. “I want to see your face.”

Mituna mumbled something about “hamlet” and “fuck” that Bro didn’t really catch, but a slow, leisurely stroke against his core turned whatever comment it might have been into a needy, choked, whine. Hesitantly and with an air of reverence, he slid his arms from under himself to pull at his helmet, slipping it onto the grass beside his head and freeing a veritable mane of untameable black mess that bounced against his neck and face. He sniffed once, then pushed a hand through the bangs, craning his neck to look back at Bro. 

“Seesth the hamlet hidedesth the—the scarsth,” he lisped carelessly. Crisscrossing against the top of his face, like veins but dark and painful-looking, were scars of red and blue that trailed off against milky eyes. Like old wounds that just wouldn’t heal, even after death apparently. “Tulip doesthn—doethn’t like looking. Me neither.”

Bro suddenly had a feeling that there was some serious history behind those things and this ‘Tulip’ but an aching in his man-beef caught his attention before he even got up the interest to ask. Besides which, Mituna was, even as he hinted at a potentially heavy backstory, nearly godamn vibrating against him in anticipation.

“I like lookin’,” he managed instead, pulling Captor’s hips towards him and pushing his own hips forward. Effortlessly, lubed up by all the liquid arousal going every-fuckin’-where, he slid inside. He moaned as he felt Mituna’s pussy constrict against him, the walls shuddering with the same momentum that everything else of the yellow-blood’s convulsed. 

Mituna gasped and moaned open-mouthed, his face contorting. He scrabbled for purchase on the ground as Bro glided back and pushed back in with a little more force, eliciting needy little noises from his throat with the movement. 

Pleased with how everything had gone so far, Bro decided to get the show on the road and pulled back almost all the way out only to slam in hard enough that it lifted his knees off the ground. The response was a loud, caterwauling wail tearing from Mituna’s mouth, his toes curling, his fingers gripping at the grass and his bulges thrashing. 

“Like it a lil’ rough?” Bro began a pace thrusting in and out evenly, his mind swirling at how godamn good he felt around him, pulsating and warmer than anything he’d felt before. Like a fancy massage from one of those foreign massage places—but for his dick and also inside a grey bug alien who was now currently bucking his hips enthusiastically against his and making such a fuckin’ racket and looking at him so shamelessly from behind that crazy mop of hair and fuck.

“Like—and—pleasthe—fuck—bulge—“ Mituna choked out through drool, whining and moaning with every movement, his whole body flushed yellow. 

“Since you asked so—mmm—nicely,” Bro returned, feeling a surge of pleasure as a particular bounce from the body in front of him took him up to the hilt and threatened to go further, sucking him up eagerly with such incredibly lewd noises. He reached down, seeking out the tenta-dicks. They found him first, curling around him more quickly and with more force than he’d expected; god, at least half of these things must be pure muscle, he thought briefly.  
He gave it an experimental tug and a squeeze, the latter sending Mituna’s backside careening backwards again with another shriek-turned-sob. 

Bro rocked against Mituna, his breaths becoming jagged, squeezing at the bulges in time with his thrusts. Meanwhile, Mituna moaned and whined at top volume, clumsily trying to move his hips with him, to simultaneously back into his cock and hump his palm. It wasn’t long before Strider felt that build-up begin to swell inside him, and he doubled up on his pace, squeezing the troll’s twin dicks harder.

He came with a feral shout, bucking shakily against Mituna, who screamed and arched his back as his mound constricted and yellow fluid gushed out from between his thighs, spattering the grass beneath them, his bulges twitching erratically.  
Bro felt every muscle of his loosen in the afterglow as he slid his softening cock out of Mituna’s dripping orifice. He grinned at the sight of the gangly troll collapsed on the ground, breathing hard and covered in yellow-tinged sweat, his mop of hair sticking to his face and neck. 

“Did I break ya?”

“Fuck.” 

“Take it you’re alright, then.”

He watched with faint interest as Mituna’s bulges shrunk and slowly slid back inside a small slit just in front of his clam, which still dribbled gently. He bent to gather his pants and pull them back up, redoing the buckle. Mituna seemed to be pretty godamn zoned out for the moment and Bro wondered if fucking was legitimately the only way to shut him up for any extended amount of time.

He cocked his head. “Do you hang out around here a lot?”

“Live here.” Was the surprisingly coherent response. 

“Up for round two sometime? I’ll let you top.” Bro coaxed, hope rising for tentadick times two so far up his rectum he could almost taste them.

“Mkay.” He shoots. He scores. The crowd goes wild.

“You wanna get dressed?”

“Can dresstheth my thelf.” He chuckled nasally. “Maybe thomeone elsthe will come by and alsth—alstho plow me. In the man—meantime. Who knowsth in thisth placeth.”

Bro couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Other multiple-dicked aliens?”

“Oh yeah. Lotsth of thosthe.” Another laugh that sounded more like choking.

“Sign me the fuck up.”

“Yeah. Wel-Welcome to the dream—dram—dream bubblesth, bulgeslthut.” From his position on the ground, leaking white and yellow onto the grass, Mituna cackled hard enough that his whole body vibrated.  
Maybe being dead wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
